Stating your claim
by deanial
Summary: [College AU] Dean's quiet new roommate has a habit of wearing his clothes without permission. If it were anyone else he'd be thoroughly creeped out but, for some reason, he finds he doesn't actually mind.


_Some light-hearted fluff to warm the cockles of your heart~_  
_Will be updated fairly soon, because it's super fun to write and shouldn't be too much longer (perhaps another chapter or two). Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**Part I  
**Dean's aware that he's unusually protective of many things- there are the big things, the obvious things, like the Impala and his little, or perhaps younger is the more relevant word now, brother, Sammy, but then there are the smaller things; his DVDs and tapes must remain in their rightful cases because 'Mean Girls' (and yes, he owns 'Mean Girls') is not worthy of being placed in 'The Dark Knight' slot, and if the food is his, then the food is his, not someone else's. Even if the pie in the fridge is big enough for two, it says Dean's name on for a very specific reason.

Dean Winchester does not share food.

However, despite his knowledge of that thin layer of possessiveness inked beneath his skin, he never realized it reached to the heights of defending his clothing too, until now.

On his first night of coming home to the dingy flat and being presented with Castiel- his peculiarly isolated roommate- wearing one of his jumpers, he thought exhaustion had led him to hallucinations so he grumbled something about bed and didn't notice that Castiel stiffened, moved his arms to consciously cover the faded 'Blue Oyster Cult' logo printed on the front, and picked nervously at the worn seams until Dean successfully managed to disappear into his room.

The next morning, the jumper was folded neatly and placed with care on the coffee table. As Dean flung it over his shoulder, a waft of vanilla essence hit him and his mind was instantly commandeered with the imagery of the over-washed, color-run grey looking practically white in comparison to the messy, black mop of hair his roommate boasted. When Castiel groggily shuffled into the politely small kitchenette, switching the kettle on and hugging his currently empty mug between his fingers like it was the Holy Grail, Dean put it down to a washing machine malfunction and left it at that.

It took a while for Dean to come to the conclusion that underpants gnomes do not exist, but nervous theology majors who have never heard of Led Zeppelin do, and they have just as much of a fixation for clothing. Thankfully, his boxers have remained in their rightful place (third drawer down, secretly organized by preference) but his t-shirts are another subject altogether.

"I'm telling you, Sam," Dean hisses into the phone after walking in on Castiel asleep on the sofa, the sleeves of _Dean's_ green shirt hanging loosely on his arms, "he doesn't even ask! I just walk in and he's wearing my clothes like we're, I don't know-"

"-married?" Sam finishes, the irritating smirk obvious through his tone. "How about you talk to him? Tell him it's not normal to share shirts without sharing a bed, too."

"Because, man, that would be-" he wants to say rude or invasive, but Castiel's clear lack of personal etiquette tells him that neither of those points would be an issue, and he's highly aware that he has a right, an obligation, to take back every piece of material borrowed without consent, but he can't help but cringe at the thought that this is all so "-awkward."

"Look," Sam says, donning his diplomatic 'I want to be a lawyer when I'm all grown up' voice, "it's clearly making you uncomfortable, hell, it would make anyone uncomfortable, so you're just going to have to suck it up and tell him to stick to his own wardrobe."

Dean's exasperated sigh is interrupted by the sound of movement from outside and he rushes his goodbye to Sammy to ensure that Castiel hasn't overheard his frantic bitching, because he can't help but think those ludicrously large blue eyes might just shatter if they were to widen in sadness.

When he finally builds up enough courage to slip out of his room, Castiel's hanging up his own phone and biting his lips as he slowly slides it back into his pocket, green shirt rumpled, creased, and making him look twice as small.

"Family problems?" Dean quips conversationally, deducing that, if they're close enough to steal possessions, they're close enough to talk about their personal lives. As the words leave his mouth he realizes that the two of them have barely talked at all, it's only been a month or so but he's formed pretty good friendships here already- Jo, Bela, Ash- and yet Castiel still remains some form of enigma that exists only to stock up on coffee and make awkward passing comments. Only when Castiel's faces flushes with surprise does Dean figure that he's possibly strayed too far over their boundary line, if such thing is even present between them. "I mean, sorry, that was intrusive."

"No," Castiel replies bluntly, "it's okay, it was just my… friend, Balthazar, asking if it was possible for him to stay here for the weekend as he has a party to attend on the Saturday."

"Friend," Dean smirks, pulling the fridge open to grab a beer and casually handing Castiel one as well, "is that what they're calling it these days?"

Castiel furrows his brow and tilts his head, "I wasn't aware there were others naming the relationship I have with Balthazar."

There's a small silence as Dean tries to go through the conversation and work out whether Castiel's just a naïve son of a bitch or if it's his fault that he looks thoroughly confused, "no, what I meant to say is that it's totally cool if he's your boyfriend, I don't care, man, free country."

"Oh- well, he doesn't wish to label it," Castiel says, a shadow falling across his features for a small moment, "he says that if we have to define our bond, we should use 'fuck buddy,' but I find it far too profane."

A small part of Dean wants to shake the man's hand who's managed to persuade this nervous, robotic guy into becoming an easy lay, but the larger part wants to knock some sense into Cas, reach out and protect him a little bit and, wow, where the hell did that come from?

"He sounds kind of like an asshole," he says, instead, "but if he wants to stay that's cool with me, I was gonna ask if my little bro Sammy could stay for a while too, one day, so fair's fair."

"It would be a pleasure to meet your younger brother," Castiel nods with a small smile playing on his lips, "and thank you, Dean."

The way Castiel says his name practically vibrates through his skin and Dean can't help but smile back.

* * *

The evening Balthazar's due to arrive, Castiel is twiddling his thumbs and pacing the room; the complete opposite to his usual frozen, stoic expression. At least, Dean thinks, his mood finally matches his hair.

It takes a few laps around the room for Dean, who's sitting quite happily on the sofa and watching all of this unfold, to notice that Castiel's wearing his 'Dude You Fugly' t-shirt and gripping the seams so tight it's like he wants to raise them from perdition. Ever since they'd had their first real conversation those few nights ago, Dean and Castiel have begun talking a lot more; in fact, Dean had turned down a party invite that same Wednesday so he could force his roommate into an impromptu 'Avengers' marathon.

Castiel said he wasn't surprised to learn that Iron Man was Dean's favourite, Dean said the same about Castiel and Captain America.

However, throughout all this, and however much Dean itches to bring it up, the clothing debacle is still yet to be discussed.

"No time like the present," he mumbles to himself as he stands and intercepts Castiel's consistant wandering, placing two firm hands on his shoulders to make him stop still for the first time since arriving back from his lecture two hours ago. "Cas," he says, and Castiel's sharp glance makes him realise that it came out a little harsher than he anticipated, "you're gonna have to take that shirt off before Balthazar arrives."

Castiel blushes from the tips of his ears to the bridge of his nose and Dean realises that asking him to strip probably wasn't the most delicate way to go about this conversation. "Okay, that came out wrong," he chuckles, loosening his fingers and stepping back because _awkward. _"It's just- wearing each other's clothes is sort of like stating your claim, peeing in a circle, you know?"

"I assure you, Dean," Castiel replies with upmost sincerity, "I have never purposely urinated in a circular motion," it takes a few more moments before he adds: "I also don't see the relevance of that statement."

The innocence in Castiel's eyes makes Dean's insides tighten because the anonymous, lurking silhouette of Balthazar is probably already a few blocks away, tainting the pavement he walks on. It also, however, makes him laugh harder than it should.

"Dude you have to stop taking everything so literally," he says after he manages to choke out some words between gasps of air.

"Ah," Castiel says, eyes crinkling at the sigh of Dean's laughter, "it was an analogy for..."

"It was a way of saying that only couples really share clothes, man, and however non-serious this fling with Balthazar is, I doubt he'll appreciate seeing you in my t-shirt."

"I-" Castiel lifts his arms up and stares down at the shirt, lips parted, before his gaze returns to Dean, "I didn't realise clothing was so personal," he admits sheepishly, "you always leave your clothes so haphazardly around, and my sister Anna constantly borrows clothing from her friends, plus you never said anything the first time- well, the first time I was extremely cold and your jumper was on the floor right next to me and I thought you were going to be out the night, plus I lack casual clothing, my wardrobe is stocked full with white-collared shirts and ties and smart black pants but your clothes are so much..." he takes a large breath and cringes as he finishes with, "softer?"

For some reason, all these arguments fuse together to make a very convincing case, or maybe Dean's just become far too used to the whole thing that he finds he doesn't seem to care anymore. In the end, the way Cas shrugs into his shirt like he's a hedgehog curling into a ball is enough to make any grown man change his mind. "Hey, listen, I'm cool with it. It was weird at first, especially when we hardly spoke, but it's not like you're sniffing my panty drawer, right? So we're fine, I just don't think Bath Salts is going to be too happy with it, that's all." Dean's aware that there are at least two parts of that sentence that Castiel won't understand. "And don't take that too literally," he adds for good measure.

Castiel continues looking the epitome of embarrassed, a lost puppy frown to rival Sammy's, which only increases Dean's guilt and causes him to reach out and ruffle Castiel's hair because Dean has absolutely no tact. None.

"I-" Castiel pauses, "I'll stop, I promise."

"You don't need to stop forever," Dean urges, and the strength in which he supports that statement takes him by surprise, "just, while Balthazar is here, it would be safer for your relationship, I think."

Castiel nods and rotates on the spot, pulling the shirt off as he makes his way to his bedroom to change.

If Dean watches the movement of Cas' hipbones as he walks, he doesn't let it bother him.


End file.
